The Skirt's Damn Fault!
by I-Eat-Internet-Hugs
Summary: Since he lost a bet, Romano was forced into a skirt by a severely unruly Polish man. But what happened...he didn't expect. And boy,  he was one mad Italian. M for later chapters, haha. Written with Jenni!


**(A/N) Holaaaa. Sorry for any errors in this chapter~! I have a broken wrist and it hurts like hell :P I broke it falling out of bed and damn, does it hurt. Haha. Anyway, I had someone come up to me and ask me to do something like this. I gladly said yeah. I wrote this with my friend Jennifer, who is sitting right next to me. Here she is:**

**Jen: Sup bros.**

**Me: She uses the prefix "Bros" in half her words. **

**Jen: Do not, Broseph! I'm just spreading my brocabulary, thats all.**

**Me: Sure...anyway, PolandXRomano is not the reason it is rated M. PLEASE don't think that-for Romano's temper's sake.**

**Romano: DAMN YOU! If I catch wind you pair me up with ANYONE, I'll kill you, by stealing Russia's pipe. **

***I run off to my emo corner with Jen in tow* OK-HAVE-FUN-READING-NOW-BYE! (A/N)**

"There is No. Fucking. Way. I am putting that on, you skirt bastard."

"But like, you totally lost the bet!"

"...damn you, Polska. Damn. You. To. Fucking. HELL."

"You promised! Oh, and you so totally have to wear this to the next meeting, too!"

"Holy...no! When the hell did that become part of our bet? The bet WAS, if Feli can get Germany to go out with him in public, I would wear a skirt for you. No where in the bet did it say any-fucking-thing about the next meeting."

"'Cause I said so! Now come on, lets go to the mall and pick one out. Now, come on, totally!"

"...dammit...fine. Let's go. You're driving, bastard."

'Like, sweet!" The blonde man exclaimed way too enthusiastically, as he slammed the door on his pink corvette. "Come on in, like, we haven't got all day!"

The other man groaned loudly, stomping his way over to the other side. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you...should've never made that damn bet...anything having to do with the potato bastard ends in failure.." His complaints died to a faint mumble, barely noticable by the time the car started and drove all the way to the mall, the blonde crossdresser in the front seat singing loudly to Lady Gaga-Telephone.

"Stop callin', stop callin' I don' wanna think anymore.." The nation sang, rocking his head back and forth happily.

"Why...did I agree to this..." The other person in the car whined, sinking lower into the pink, furry leather seats, hoping to not be seen.

"Eh eh e- OH! We're here."

"You bastard. We've been here for minute and a half, I just didn't want to-NO, couldn't, talk to you when you are acting like a fucking pansy." Romano growled, jumping out, slamking the door, and then stepping back as though acting like he hadn't just stepped out of the most embaressing car in the world.

"Like whatever. Lets go into Claires!"

"...what's that?"

He gasps. "OH my gosh, you HAVEN'T heard of CLAIRES? Its only the most fabulous store in the WORLD~"

Romano sighs and facepalms. "It might have something to do with the fact that I'M. A. MAN. And I don't dress like a fucking chick. So...come on. Let's get in and get out." 

"Ugh" Poland pouts annoyingly. "But I, like, totally wanted to look around for a bit..."

"No one gives a shit if you're fucking sad in this world. Now, I'm going in, getting a skirt, lying and telling the clerk it's for my fucking girlfriend, and leaving. No more, wish it was less."

"Lame." They enter the shopping area, searching for the familiar ("FAMILIAR TO HIM, DAMMIT!") sparkly, purple sign. "Like, where is it?"

"Its right behind you, bastard. Damn, I didn't think you were that stupid."

"Oh, there it is!" He says, ignoring the Italian's comment."Well, whatcha waiting for?" He grabbed Romano's hand before he could say anything, making him flail wildly.

"Dammit, let me go!" 

"No, you lost the bet, you like, have to go in! At least I'm letting you pick your skirt, even if its probably not in season..."

The Italian struggled madly, but alas, it was to no avail. Getting dragged, into the store and to the skirts, he groaned and randomly grabbed a skirt. It was a small, plaid skirt.

"... Huh, guess I was wrong!" The blonde emerged from a different clothing rack, with a frilly, pink skirt. "How did you know plaid was in this year?"

"...fucking bastard. I wouldn't know that! I just grabbed into the rack, closed my fist, and this appeared!"

Feliks looked at the sign above the rack of skirts and outerwear, which naturally says "Latest summer fashions! 25% off"

"Ooh, and it's on sale too!" He drops the ruffled skirt and makes a beeline for the rack of 'goodies'.

Whining a bit to himself, Romano goes to the counter and tries to not groan loudly when he sees the clerk is a man. The man gapes at the skirt in his hands.

"Whoa. Like, a totally amazing choice!" Romano facepalmed.

"You wouldn't happen to be POLISH, would you?" When the man nodded, he took a deep breath and slammed the skirt down, paying quickly and running straight out of the store.

"Woah, like, wait up Roma! Thanks, August!" The store clerk waved back at the other Pole, who was leaving the store with at least 5 bags on hand.

When the Pole finally caught up with the fiesty, red-faced, breathless Italian, he was leaning on the pink car, too tired to care what he was leaning on, let alone the colour.

The crossdresser unlocked the door for the future crossdresser. "Come on in, the door is open~" He takes a seat himself. " I still think you should wear that at the meeting."

"Y-yeah...sure...I'll do it...whatever..." He said, trying to catch his breath, not noticing that the words were escaping his lips. The Pole danced for glee (as much as he can dance; they're in a fucking car :3) at his words.

"YOU WILL?" His face lit up.

"Whoa-whoa...I'LL WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK DID I AGREE TO?"

"YA- Oh my gosh, we are so totally late for the meeting!" He turned the pink covered keys, started the car and drove off before Romano could even get a word in edgewise.

**(A/N) REVIEWS = LOVE. LOVE ON ME, MY BROSEPHS!**

**DAMN. SHE'S GETTING TO ME.**** (A/N)**


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